The Hillside summary

I'm sitting at my cluttered desk with a Yuengling Black & Tan, recollecting last night's events for this post. I have to just start typing, since nothing would come out unless I just dive into my stream-of-consciousness method today. Whether I delete this once the post is done or not remains to be seen.

Last night I worked one of the ritziest events ever. The blackest of black-tie affairs. It was the annual Wegmans Hillside gala, a charity auction and fundraiser, for the Hillside Childrens Center. Tucked away in Chili at Wegmans former "Health and Wellness" fitness center, an open, warehouse-sized facility. I parked my car and walked in, nodding to the valet attendants. Inside, we were all issued stiffly starched tux shirts, bright and pure white as newly-fallen snow. Vests and bow ties, unfaded and pitch black, accompanied these. Upon discovering that we had to return these at the end of the night, I jokingly vowed to do so with "as much shit as I can possibly spill on them." I have to remember to be careful about what I ask for, but I'll get to that later.

We were led through the dining room, which had been partioned off with black draperies hung from runners near the ceiling. LEDs had been laced into them so that the "walls" shone like stars on a clear night. A fitting actualization of the theme of this so-titled event: the "Shining Stars Gala." The goal was to raise money to help support Wegmans work-scholarship program, and to highlight successes by working students in the program. We were briefed on the service and protocol, which was to be very formal and attentive. The glassware and china were all designer, and the tables displayed large, stainless candle-holders, each with five white candles which would burn two feet above the tabletop. As we set the silverware, glasses and 14-inch, beaded charger plates, Danny Wegman strode through the kitchen area and dining room, smiling and warmly shaking each and every worker's hand. I can't help but like that in a business owner, notwithstanding rumors of his prodigious pharmaceutical use (probably untrue, even if it was the case at one point). Other local luminaries in attendance were county exec Maggie Brooks and mayor Bob Duffy, who's got quite a few inches advantage on six feet. with about 30 servers, the room was set pretty quickly, and we returned to our partitioned break room to be assigned to teams of five. Each team had a designated captain, and would attend to four tables. There would be no carrying trays of dinners into the room; that would be too pedestrian. We would, as a team, carry one table's course into the room all at once, a plate in each hand. We were to swoop in, surround the table, and serve them, always over the left shoulder of the guest, and later clearing from the right. We went over the menu, which was exquisite. I sadly neglected to purloin a copy of the menu when I left last night... something I should have done, if only for posterity's sake. The head chef for the night was David Bouley, who has opened several restaurants and bakeries in Manhattan, as well as worked in Santa Fe, Cape Cod, San Francisco, Switzerland, and France, where he also studied at the Sorbonne. His menu included five courses, the dessert comprising two courses, and this was all introduced with a cocktail. The cocktail was a kumquat, yuzo and elderflower cocktail. The first course was a fruit dish (my limited descriptions border on insulting the actual dishes; they were phenomenal to see, and assumably to taste). The second course was halibut, the third was Dungeness crab and lobster. Fourth (the only one I recall!) was organic Guinea hen, wrapped in steamed cabbage and set on a delicately-placed semi-circle of foie gras. The final course was the dessert; first came a sorbet with a large slice of tropical fruit and fresh whipped cream, and second was a plate with a disc of ice cream, accompanied by gels and sauces. Little 1-ounce custard dishes of chocolate mousse were also passed out with dessert. And the beverages... also detailed! There was the elderflower cocktail, the sparkling spring water, the chardonnay with the appetizer, fish and seafood courses, and the red wine (a blend of three different wines which I can't now recall), served with the hen. And we mustn't forget a dessert wine... an ice wine served in a mini stemmed glass, about the size of a shooter.

After we were instructed on service protocol and the menu, we were actually fed, and it wasn't leftovers! Party trays of Wegmans subs were brought in, along with condiments, extra peppers and onions, and salad dressing. There were two Cambros with ice for bottled water and soda for us, too. We were treated very well on top of the $15 an hour we were being paid for this extraordinary fête. I picked out a couple of sub halves for myself (my favorite being the tuna on wheat), a Weggies cola and a handful of chips, and sat down with my team. Most of the Employment Store people were on Cheryl's team, but a couple of us were transferred to needy, short-handed teams. As far as I could tell, everyone on my team worked at the Party House, a so-so catering joint in Chili. My captain was an idiot. A skinny old lady who seemed to get off on being in charge. I'm glad she didn't fuck with me, but she got into a restrained pissing match with one of the girls on the team who wasn't a Party House server. It was some beef about her authority... she flexed her captain muscles and this girl didn't kow-tow. There was a brief threat to transfer her to another team... scary. Sometimes I hate servers. In general my captain wasn't all that organized, and I was tossed around from server to water and wine bitch. I was freqently re-told instructions which I heard clearly the first time at our pre-meal meetings. The young girl who arrived with my captain, possibly a grand-daughter or something, saw fit to give me instructions on how and what to clear. Ah, nothing like having the mantle of authority. At one point I had to take a little stroll to cool off, as I swore I was about to strangle the next idiot who talked to me like it was my first night slinging dinners.

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It's been over a week since I wrote that first part. I couldn't seem to keep up with the blog last week when I began a temp job. I'll briefly wrap up that last post by saying that the whole affair went very well, and that I stayed true to my intention of soiling my borrowed shirt. After the room broke, while carrying a 12" tray of glassware, two wine glasses toppled over towards me. They didn't break, for I thankfully caught them with my stomach... and all the red wine in them! I was absolutely soaked with wine. The front of my tux shirt was a deep red, and several people joked that I looked like I'd been shot.

After that I spent some time chatting with one of the chefs, who I think was from California. He was all too eager to talk with me about the profession, and the most beneficial way for me to get my education. Sipping from a red wine glass, he told me about the ups and downs of cooking, and concluded that at my age cooking school would be my best choice. He said it would give me an idea of what directions the field was headed in, which is a good point.

All in all, a fun (and at $15 an hour, profitable!) night.